


215 - Van's First Pride

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Reader-Insert, Van McPan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 18:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “a fic where reader takes van to a lgbtq+ space / march / rally and also incorporating mor van mcpan ?? maybe even meeting a van at a pride rally ? idk that’d be coool and gay and amazing” for my girl @placidus





	215 - Van's First Pride

The march was about to start, so you were packing up your face paints and glitter when a boy in black and a girl in a pink tutu came bouncing up to you.

"You're not closed are you?" she asked, clearly devastated. Her brown skin was already covered in glitter and little rainbow sticker sat on the bridge of her nose. "This one came to a fuckin' Pride march dressed for a funeral." She took her friend's hand and shook it. It was true; he did.

"This is how I always dress,"

"Yeah. But it's Pride, Van," she whined, then looked back at you. "Just a quick rainbow? No! Give him a little pan flag. That's easier and obviously makes more sense."

You unfolded the chair you had just folded and nodded. The girl pushed her friend, Van, onto it.

"Obviously," you said with a smirk.

"What? Don't look proper pansexual to you?" he asked, amused.

You clipped his hair away from his face with a little butterfly clip. The girl started to taking photos; he stuck his tongue out at her.

"Don't think there is a proper pansexual look. I mean, we look nothing alike, yet…"

"Oh! You're pansexual! There's so many of you now," the girl said cheerily. You started to paint his face with pink, yellow and blue. He stayed very still, and while you worked you counted the freckles on his skin and fell weirdly in love with the pimple hiding under an eyebrow.

"Probably a steady number of us," Van said quietly, confused at her logic. The girl gasped and you and Van both looked across at her.

"Oh. My. God. Van, I'll be right back," she said quickly and was gone quicker. He sighed hard. You sniggered. He took it as an invitation. "I love her to death, but she's… a lot. She's gonna do that the whole fuckin' afternoon. Duck off. I'm only here 'cause she said I had to be,"

"Always do what you're told?"

"No. But, I don't know. All of this is kind of new… I'm… trying, I guess, or something, I don't know," he replied with a smaller sigh. Newly out as queer then. It explained why he thought black was a good choice for a Pride march. It probably usually would help him blend into surroundings. Not there though.

"Well, I'm honoured that I am part of your first Pride. And you're done. Just a little flag," you told him, holding up a mirror. He nodded, but didn't smile. "You don't like it?"

"No!" he quickly said, hands up. "I do,"

"Would some glitter help?" you asked, quickly dabbing some on the tip of his nose. He laughed, pushing your hands away.

"Stop!" he said, standing up. He started to fold the chair up. "I love it. I'm just…"

“Nervous? You seem nervous,” 

"Yeah. It's not like me either. It's weird,"

"Well, the only way to fuck up Pride is by wearing black, but like, you've done that so it can only go better from here on out," you said, biting your bottom lip in anticipation of a bad reaction. He looked at you and snorted.

"You're funny,"

"Thanks… Anyway… Where's…" you began, looking around for the girl in the tutu.

"Rose… yeah… um… I'll call her," he said. You stood awkwardly in place, waiting to hand him over to his friend. People had already begun the march, the end of the parade in sight from where you were gathered in the park. He hung up, sighing for the third time.

"No answer, huh?" you said softly. He shook his head. "Alright. That's okay. Come on. Help me carry this stuff to my car, then you can walk with me 'till we find her, okay?" Van nodded, picked up the card table and your kit, and followed quietly behind you.

Your car was only a block away, so you packed it quickly then re-joined the tail of the march. The silence between you and Van wasn't awkward. Maybe it was the explosion of sound and colour and character all around you that acted as a buffer, or maybe he was just easy to be around.

"So… how come you’re here alone?" he asked. You walked a little closer to him so you'd not have to yell.

"This is gonna sound super lame… but, I feel like I want to contribute to the good somehow, you know? Like… I can't fix the bad. But just by showing up and painting rainbows and stuff, it makes people happy… prouder… Makes me feel like I've done something worthwhile," you explained. "And, uh, I used to come with friends and stuff, but I get a bit spacey sometimes about stuff like this, so I usually just chill for a bit, then meet up with people at the after-party,"

"Oh! I can go if-" he said quickly.

"No! No, it's okay. This is what I mean. If I had just come with friends then you wouldn't have got your little pan flag and glitter nose. It's good that you did. I get to be here and see another person experience all this for the first time. That's cool as fuck,"

"Yeah, it is," he replied, nodding.

As you walked with the community, you pointed out the people and the groups that were of particular relevance and importance. Pretty much everyone, according to you, but Van liked listening to you talk. Near the end of the march, you spotted Rose. Van called out to her and she came skipping over.

"OH! You look so good!" she said and stood on tippy toes to kiss him on the lips quickly. He laughed. "Sorry, I tried looking for you, but my phone died," she explained, then looked at you. "Thanks for looking after him," she said.

"Anytime," you replied with a casual shrug. Then, she was pulling him through the crowd before you could get another word in. Rose wasn't being rude, she'd just not witnessed the little glances and hands brushing against hands. You waved at Van when he looked over his shoulder and pretended you weren't just a little heartbroken.

…

The storm clouds had rolled across the sky in the evening. To escape the sudden downpour of rain, people packed clubs and pubs. It was a little past midnight when there was a break, and you quickly made your way outside for a smoke. Patting down your pockets and checking your bag, you couldn't find your cigarettes. "Fuck," you muttered to yourself, looking around.

Everyone had the same idea as you; the street was filled with rainbow-clad people, dancing and smoking and feeling happy. The gutters were awash with dirty water that shimmered with glitter and confetti. You smiled to yourself at that little strange and glorious thing.

There were many people you could have asked to share their smokes, but you'd have to buy your own eventually. You set off down the street to the nearest all-night convenience store, sending a group message to your friends in the club as you walked.

A bolt of lightning lit up the street suddenly and was followed by a loud clap of thunder. People squealed in delight and in their alcohol and drug and love induced hazes, failed to sense the drop in temperature. A little more sober than the rest of the street, you pulled your jacket around you tighter as you rounded the corner and crossed the road.

Under the fluorescent lights of the store, you bought your cigarettes and thanked the girl behind the counter. She had her hair tied with rainbow ribbons and you wondered if she had asked for the night off or if it was camouflage. You stood against the outside glass wall of the store and lit a smoke. A group, a gaggle, of people walked by and into the store. You hadn't looked up, but did when one of them lingered in front of you.

Van was standing there, pan flag in tact but glitter long smudged away. His hair was wet and stuck up all over the place. He looked tired more than anything else, and although his lips were stained with red wine (who drinks wine at a club?) he stood straight and still; sober.

"Hey," he said cautiously, like he was unsure if you'd remember him.

"Hey, Van," you replied.

"I, uh… I didn't catch your name before,"

"Y/N. Nice to meet you," you said, holding a hand out. He grinned and shook your hand. His skin was warm and touching him sent electricity up your spine and it made you shiver.

More lightning and thunder, then it started to rain again. Van wasn't standing under the cover of the shop, and he made no attempt to move, busy glancing between you and his friends in the store. You reached out and pulled him closer to you, out of the rain. He snapped out of his little trance.

"Sorry. Thanks," he said. You shrugged. "Got a light?"

You lit his cigarette for him and watched him close his eyes and inhale.

"You okay?" you asked him.

"Yeah… All this ain't what I'm used to, is all,"

"That's okay. Sometimes I think if we don't do…" you paused, and settled on using his own words, "…all this… then we're, like, bad queer people, you know? Like, if we don't come to Pride events and rallies and all that then we're less queer or something. But we're not. You don't have to be into this social scene. You're not betraying yourself or anyone else, you know what I mean?"

Van thought for a moment. "Feels like… this is the only way I'm allowed to show pride,"

"Yeah. I understand that, but it's not," you replied. It was a feeling you had experienced when you were younger. The pre-established way to be queer, to show pride, to exist in the community… it didn't suit everyone and there was a large amount of guilt and a pretty substantial amount of stigma associated with that. You had always wished someone had told you what you were telling Van. He, like everyone else, would have to slowly figure out exactly who they were and how they could best express that. It wasn't something anyone should tell him how to do.

From inside, you could hear Rose's voice calling for him. He looked across at you. "They want to keep going," he told you.

"What do you want?"

"Bed," he replied wistfully.

You laughed and put your smoke out against the concrete sidewalk, then flicked it into the small bin near the store's door. You looked at Van. The fluro sign in the window that read 24/7 was throwing a pink glow over his skin. Against the background of Pride, of an impending storm, of smoky haze and nostalgic emotions, he looked like a fucking angel.

"Happy to be your excuse, if you want. Walk me to my car, then bail?" you offered. His face lit up and he was nodding immediately. Apparently, you weren’t going back to your friends either. 

He disappeared into the store for only a couple of seconds, emerging with a lollypop for you from Rose. You sucked on it as you navigated back through the city to where your car was.

Standing between the interior of the car and the open door, you faced Van. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"If this was a normal night out for you, what would you be doing?" you asked him, suddenly very curious about the rest of Van's life. He looked around as he thought, then checked the time on his phone. You guessed it was somewhere between two and three in the morning.

"By now, I'd either have gone home. Too old for this shit," he said, pausing to wait for you to stop laugh.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two,"

"Oh my god. Okay. So, either home, or?"

"Chips! Or yiros. Anythin' close and open," Van nodded.

"Well, chips has my vote. Get in," you ordered. It only took him a second to work out what you were saying. He moved quickly to the other side of the car and got in the passenger seat.

As you drove out of the city and down a highway on your way to yours, you watched Van flick through a zipped up case of old CDs.

"You got some classics here," he noted, impressed. He settled on something and sat back in the seat.

You ordered an excessive amount of fries and chicken nuggets at a drive through, and let Van feed you as you sped the rest of the way home.

He followed you through the front door of your flat and kicked his boots off when you slipped out of yours. He poured the rest of the fast food out onto the paper bag on the coffee table as you searched through your kitchen for drinks.

"Alright, I have… vodka… orange juice… milk… half a can of Coke… or tea!" you yelled out to him.

"Is it weird if I just want tea?"

You peaked your head around the corner to look at him. "Chicken nuggets and tea. My type of person," you said and disappeared to make the brew.

You sat side by side on the lounge room floor, backs to the couch and legs stretched out under the coffee table. When there was nothing good on television, you resigned to your fate of watching late night infomercials. As you monopolised all the sweet and sour sauce, Van turned the volume down and narrated the on-screen action.

"For the low, low price of a billion dollars, you might buy back a small bit of ya self-esteem," he said. You giggled as you watched people stand on a machine that seemed to do nothing but make them jiggle. It was almost hypnotic.

His narration was interrupted by his phone ringing. He picked up. "Hey… Yeah… Nah, we went to get food… At Y'N's… Yeah… No. No. I'm off, Rose. Bye… No. Bye. Bye!"

You smirked as he hung up. "Thought her phone was dead?"

"She was on our friend's. Just checkin' on me…"

"Good friend," you replied.

"Nosy friend, more like it,"

"But you love her,"

"Yeah. To bits."

There was a quiet then as you finished the chips and tea. The magic of the moment was broken by the phone call, and you started to wonder what your plan had been. You'd brought this boy back to your flat like a stray puppy; what were you going to do with him? Feed him. Check. Bath him. Bit weird. Let him sleep and find his home in the morning?

"You're crashing here, yeah?" you asked.

He paused, looking over at you. "Was that… a question?"

"Well… Yes, no. I don't know. I can drive you home if you want, or you can stay here. Easier for me if you stay,"

"Yeah. I'm used to couches," he replied. You nodded and started to collect all the rubbish from the table to take to the kitchen bin. Van followed you from the room, carefully carrying the teacups.

You covered the couch with a thick quilt and directed Van to lie down. He pulled his jeans off and did as you said. There was a certain thrill in that, and the smirk on his face told you he felt it too. You covered him in a second quilt and tucked him in dramatically.

With a kiss on the forehead, you said goodnight and left him in the room.

Bundled up in your own bed, you were suddenly cold and lonely. You flicked through the photos in your phone that you'd taken throughout the day and night; tried to distract yourself from the image of a cuddly, fucking adorable and a little lost Van falling sleep in your linen in your lounge room. 

...

The birds in the tree outside woke you up. You hated them because they were the same type that would crow outside your childhood bedroom window, alerting you to the fact you needed to get up for school and endure another day of bullying. Even grown up, autonomous and free, the squawking sound was still unsettling. You went to burrow down into your bedding more, but remembered Van. Checking on him would be the polite thing to do. You sat up and peaked through your bedroom blinds to the backyard. A small space that was made smaller by the presence of Van sitting in it.

He was lying flat on the grass, one arm under his head, the other bring a cigarette to his mouth at uneven intervals. You watched him for a moment before tapping on the window. He looked over at the sound, and you gave him a little wave with your index finger. He sat up, smiled, and made a little motion that meant 'tea?' You nodded and stayed in bed.

After five minutes your bedroom door opened and Van padded in, still only in underwear t-shirt, carrying the tea. He put it on your bedside table, along with his own mug. You shuffled over in the bed and moved the blanket to let him in.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hey," you replied, voice cracking. Van chuckled. "I feel a little hungover even though I wasn't drunk,"

"Probably just tired," he theorised, reaching out to push some hair behind your ear.

That was something about morning Van that was different to night Van. Or, maybe it was that Pride Van was different to regular day Van. In the soft light filtering through the window, and between the clean white sheets of your bed, he seemed both softer and more confident. You couldn't image the Van that you had met the night before bold climbing into your bed and touching you so easily. You liked both versions of him.

"So, I was thinking about Pride, and how it was your first, like, super gay thing," you said. He nodded. "That's the absolute extreme, you know. I go to this thing sometimes, it's kind of like open mic for singer/songwriters, but sometimes it's pretty much just spoken word poetry. It's less pretentious than it sounds. But, they're all queer writers, you know? It's super low-key. It's at a bar and stuff. I thought maybe if you wanted to be part of… something… that might be more your thing,"

"I write!" he responded, his voice cheery.

"Poems?"

"Kinda. Songs. I'm in a band, see. I write the lyrics and play the guitar. We're real good. We can swap shows, yeah? Take me to this thing, and I'll bring you to one of my gigs," Van said moving a little closer to you in the bed.

"Perfect."

You stayed in bed for another hour, talking about music and film and your lives. It was too easy to lose time with him.

…

"Is anyone your type?" you whispered to Van across the table. He smirked at you, holding your gaze for a little too long before looking around the bar.

"Everyone is my type," Van replied with a casual shrug.

"Okay, everyone is your type but it doesn't mean you think everyone is attractive, right? So, pick a babe,"

"So bossy," he laughed, sipping his beer and looking around again.

"Okay… maybe the first guy that read his poems,"

"I knew it!"

"Yeah, yeah. Predictable. And… of course, you," he added.

You were mid-mouthful of beer and swallowing became difficult. You hoped it was visible that you were almost choking.

"Me what?"

"You're my type and you told me to pick a babe. If I could have anyone in this room-"

"You could have anyone in this room," you mumbled to yourself, too quiet for him to hear.

"What?"

"What?" you replied with a smile.

He narrowed his eyes at you, but continued. "If I could, I'd pick you."

You watched him watching you.

"I can't tell if you're being funny," you said.

Then, the lights went down and the next poet walked on stage. She was all soft rolls and curves, and her skin was the colour of maple syrup. Unicorn pink hair and cupid bow lips. Van sniggered.

"She's your type," he whispered. You nodded, not taking your eyes off the literal fairy princess at the front of the room.

The conversation was dropped, ready to be picked up as soon as either of you got a little braver.

…

Whatever feelings you had about Van was amplified along with his guitar. Performing with his band fed his soul a fire that could not be put out. As he bounced around and had his lyrics sung back to him, you were in complete and utter amazement.

"Whaddaya think?" he asked immediately after walking off stage. As it was when he stood in the glowing pink light of the convenience store, his hair was standing up at weird angles, held there by sweat rather than rain though.

"You are amazing, Van McPan," you told him, pulling him into a hug. He laughed and carried you back stage.

The night was spent hanging out with his friend's and hearing stories of his youth. Their unconditional love for him was so evident in every word that fell from their mouths, and in every pat on the back and ruffle of the hair. Despite him being the unofficial leader of their band, the Catfish to their Bottlemen, they all looked out for him and spoke of him like he was their little brother that made good.

You followed Larry outside for a smoke. Leaning against a wall facing each other, he spoke first.

"Think you're good for him," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"He's always needed… I don't know, a bridge, or somethin', between the different parts of his life. We all love Rose and his other friends, but they're so different to us. Think he felt like he had to be two different people, you know,"

"Yeah. I understand that," you replied.

"Yeah. But, you're the bridge, you know? You're like us, but-" He stopped himself before saying 'like them', meaning 'gay.' 

"I know what you mean. And it means a lot. But you're getting real emotional on me here, mate. Aren't you meant to the stoic one?"

Larry laughed. You finished your smoke with lighter conversation and went back inside.

If you were the bridge between Van's worlds, did that mean you owed it to him to stay that way, to stay consistent in the friendship? Or did it mean you meant something different to him than simple and uncomplicated friendship?

…

There had been a party for Rose's birthday and you'd been invited to go with Van. A little after midnight most people had retired to cabs and carpools. You sat with Van, Rose and a small handful of their friends.

"Fuck. Marry. Kill."

Rose clapped at the suggestion. It started innocently, and with names of the famous and unobtainable. As walls came down, the names started to be closer to home until they were the names of the people in the room.

"Okay, Van. Your turn again," Rose said with a mischievous smile that you didn't know if she got from Van or he got from her. "Me!"

"Kill," he said straight away. She rolled her eyes and throw a pillow across the space at him. He caught it with one hand and gave it to you to add to your little growing cushion thrown.

"Me. Karen Gillan. Aaaaaaaaaaaand, Y/N!" Rose said. Van took a long gulp from his wine glass then rolled his head lazily to face you. He smiled at you.

"She thinks this is gonna make me feel awkward," he said to you, and only you. "But it ain't." Van sat up and looked at Rose. "Think she's a goddess and everythin' but Karen's dead. Don't know her, so won't feel as bad, see. Then… guess we act like an old married couple already, Rose, so I'd marry ya. Sham marriage. That leaves my girl, Y/N. Fuck. Easy. Look at her," he finished, motioning vaguely at you.

There were semi-interested giggles from around the room, but Van was right. Rose had definitely thought the question would get more of a reaction.

"You're no fun, Van," Rose said, moving on to the next person.

He looked back at you.

"Should I be offended you don't want to spend the rest of your life with me?" you asked him. He leant over and kissed your cheek. You could feel the wetness of the wine on his lips.

"No. I love you," he replied. "I'd do whatever you tell me to do,"

"Risky thing to tell someone like me," you said, lowering your voice despite the room's attention being firmly away from you and Van.

"Someone like you? I know you, Y/N. I'll do whatever ya want. Just say the word."

You watched each other for a couple of seconds before a scream across the room made you both instinctively turn away. The moment was ruined.

…

From where you were sat with Larry and a couple of other people you'd gotten to know through Van, you watched Van at the bar as a boy that kind of looked like his twin tried his hardest to pick him up. The flirting was overt, and while you could read that Van was flattered and liked the guy in at least a platonic way, he wasn't buying in. Larry leant over.

"Are you gonna save him?" Larry asked.

"Our little pansexual baby needs to spread his wings," you replied.

"Eh. He would if he needed to like, fly, or whatever your metaphor is. But he don't, do he?"

You looked away from Van to face Larry.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… he's got you. Loves you. Don't think he even sees anyone else anymore." Your blank expression made Larry laugh again. Glancing back over at the bar, Larry repeated his opening line. "Are you gonna save him, or not?"

Approaching from behind Van, you stood close enough to hear the conversation. If the guy looked like Van's twin, he sounded like a clone. There was still an edge of want in his voice, but he'd clearly figured out that Van wasn't interested. Maybe he was aiming for friendship, like every other person that hadn't been successful in their attempts to make Van love them. According to Larry, you weren't their peers. You didn't need to attempt anything. He was already there.

Slowly you moved closer to Van, until you were right behind his back. The proximity of your body to his made him stand straight; he was unnerved a stranger would stand so close. Then, as you bumped into him gently, he worked out it was you. Spine curving back into a relaxed position, you headbutted his shoulder lightly. You listened to the conversation for a minute more before taking the step out from behind Van to stand at his side. Immediately, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

"Hey," Van whispered to you. "Uh, this is Andy. Mate, this is Y/N,"

"Hey. Nice to meet ya," Andy said with a little wave.

"Yeah, you too. I like your jacket," you replied, pointing out the black suede thing he had on that reminded you of Van's velvet.

"Oh, thanks. My sister got it for me," he told you. Like Van, Andy was prone to sharing irrelevant information that people couldn't do much with. It was an endearing trait.

"Um, cool. She has good taste… Anything, sorry to break this up, but I need to borrow Van for a bit,"

"Oh, sure, yeah. I should probably find my mates anyway. It was good to meet you both," Andy said with a weird little bow as he backed away.

You took Van's hand and lead him out the front of the pub. You didn't need to explain you were saving him, and he didn't need to thank you. Instead, you used his cigarette to light yours and stood holding each other under the streetlight.

"Y/N?"

You mumbled a response into his chest, keeping your eyes closed and dangerously smoking in the self-inflicted darkness. He didn't say anything more though. Finishing your cigarettes in silence, you stepped apart when done.

"Van?" He looked up at you. "I…"

"Me too," he said quickly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Y/N," he paused to snort. "From the get go. From the moment you painted my face with your soft little makeup brush. That was it."

You smiled and stepped closer, closing the space between your bodies. A long awaited kiss that felt more than natural.

…

Weeks later, tangled up on the couch watching mindless daytime television, Van slurped up the rest of his tea before turning to you.

"Do you think it's weird that we're pan but datin' a boy and girl anyway," he asked with awkward phrasing. You looked across at him and grinned.

"Goes to Pride for the first time. Meets future girlfriend,"

"Exactly!"

"Nah. Not weird. You're not less pan because you're dating a girl, and same for me with you," you told him. Van nodded, eyes back on the television screen.

"I'm lucky to have you, you know? To just, help me with all this stuff,"

"This gay stuff?" you asked with a laugh; he nodded though. "Oh, Van. You're a beautiful little thing, aren't ya? I'm lucky to have you too. It's good. We're good, yeah?"

"Yeah. Very good," he replied, scooting over on the couch to pull you into a hug, his hand holding your jaw gently when you broke apart so he could kiss you hard.


End file.
